Of Wishes and Dreams
by RogueAngel
Summary: Harry spends Christmas with the Weasleys. He finds himself a bit depressed after all the festivities. He makes a wish....and finds hope. Epilogue of sorts added 12/25/02...
1. Default Chapter

Of Wishes and Dreams  
By RogueAngel  
Rogueangel1998@yahoo.com  
  
Summary: After Christmas with the Weasley's Harry makes a wish....  
  
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, I'm just borrowing them from JK Rowling and Disney - I think.  
  
A/n - This is my first attempt at Harry Potter Fanfiction. Please be kind. ;) Many thanks to Bela for a quick and thorough beta job!  
  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Harry sat quietly on the couch, a tattered rug pulled haphazardly across his lap, his fingers absently picking at the unraveling edges. It wasn't that he needed it to keep warm; the living room was quite comfortable now that he had restarted the fire in the hearth. The old woolen rug had been tossed across the back of the couch earlier and it had seemed natural to pull it over himself. Feeling the scratchiness of it against his hands reminded him of the earlier conversation between George, Fred and their mother. The rug had once been used by the Weasley children as a play mat, but it was much the worse for the wear now, and quite homely. The twins had lamented the fact that their mother hadn't bothered to get rid of it, but she had protested. Her children had played on that blanket for years. Though old, worn, faded and tattered, it had sentimental value. She wasn't about to toss it out because it was no longer aesthetically pleasing to them.   
  
One of the twins, Fred most likely, had mimicked their mother's words perfectly as she spoke, his hands positioned on his hips just like her as she lectured them. Ron laughed as he shoved a chocolate frog into his mouth and Percy shook his head, tsking at the twin's antics. Ginny had leaned over from her place near the fire, her merry eyes catching Harry's bemused look.   
  
"It's the same thing every year," she told him softly, the rest of the room's occupants still occupied in arguing good-naturedly over the beloved rug. "Nana Marie, mum's mum, made it for the twins after Charlie accidentally set fire to the old play rug that he and Bill used. Luckily, Percy wasn't playing on it at the time," she laughed softly. "Mum's determined that the grandchildren will one day play on it." She shook her head, digging through her stocking for another sugar quill. "It's a nice thought, but I don't know if the rug will last long enough - even though she only brings it out at Christmas now. I can't imagine this lot producing grandbabies anytime soon."   
  
Harry looked around the room at her brothers. Bill hadn't changed since he had last seen him after the Tri Wizard's tournament, much to his mother's dismay. From the conversations he and Ron had overheard, Bill was enjoying the single life too much to settle down. Charlie was too busy with his dragons to consider it either. He had loudly lamented the fact that not many women were willing to brave the wilds of Romania - not to mention dragons - to be with him, but he didn't seem to really mind. Harry got the distinct impression that he didn't lack for companionship. Percy was too busy working to even date, much less settle down, and the twins... Well, it was hard to imagine them ever being serious enough to marry and raise a family. He knew that Fred and Angelina were still dating...but, he just couldn't imagine them doing more.   
  
That left Ron...and Ginny. Harry shuddered at the idea of Ron as a father. Not because he thought Ron would be a bad one, but...they were the same age and if Ron was to be a father, that meant that Hermione would probably be the mother...and Harry just wasn't ready to even think of that. They still had to finish their last year at Hogwarts, and after that...no, children were very far off in the future.   
  
Then his eyes turned to Ginny, still searching through her stocking, a small frown on her face. The fire light behind her caused her cheeks to flush becomingly and made her hair seem almost alive. It wasn't the first time that Harry had been suddenly struck by what a pretty young woman Ginny had turned into. She was no longer just Ron's little sister, though that fact was never very far from his mind. She was also his friend, and a very pretty one at that.   
  
"What about you?" Harry heard himself asking as he watched her.   
  
Startled, Ginny glanced up from her search, her eyes wide. "Me? Grandbabies?"   
  
Harry nodded, somewhat amused to see her flush even more.   
  
"Well...I...I'm only 17," she stammered. "I still have another year at Hogwarts...and even then...." she looked around uncomfortably.   
  
"Even then..." Harry prodded, enjoying her sudden discomfiture. It was a new feeling to be teasing Ginny. In the past he had always been cautious because he didn't want to encourage her embarrassing crush on him, or add any unnecessary rumors that he might actually return her feelings. Now that they were friends he realized it could be quite fun to make her blush and stammer.   
  
"Well, I'd need a husband, wouldn't I?" she began digging through her stocking once more, avoiding Harry's gaze. "Seeing as I don't even have a boyfriend at the moment, I think it's way to soon to speculate about babies."   
  
"But you like the idea," he said, unable to take his eyes off her. He had been watching Ginny a lot lately. It had seemed that since he had first seen her this summer, shortly after his seventeenth birthday, his eyes were constantly drawn to her like a magnet. It wasn't just that he suddenly realized how pretty and ...feminine..she was, but she seemed to sparkle from within. Her eyes, her smile, the way she teased him and Ron; whenever she was around he felt like the black cloud that was hovering over him would disappear. He didn't think of Dumbledore, or prophecies, or Voldemort, or any of the other multitude of problems that seemed to be accosting the wizarding world. When he was around her he felt like nothing more than a normal 17 year old boy. And he liked that feeling.   
  
Ginny's eyes flew up to meet his once again, obviously wondering what he meant. "Babies? Well...uh, sure...I like babies. And someday...when I find the right bloke..." she trailed off, never taking her eyes off of him. For some strange reason Harry felt like she was asking him a question, but he wasn't sure what it was.   
  
Harry felt himself blushing and he hoped that she would think it was from the heat of the fire and not because he just realized what a personal question he had just asked. "I meant..about the play rug...your mum keeping it for her grandbabies."   
  
"Oh," Ginny looked flustered, then with an obvious effort she managed to get control of her sudden embarrassment. She smiled impishly at him. "Well, one of us has to be the sentimental one." She paused. "What about you?" she finally asked. "Do you think my mum and I are too sentimental about an old tatty rug?"   
  
Harry looked at her for a moment, his heart suddenly beating heavily in his chest, then he looked around the room at her family. All of them were laughing and joking, even Percy. Then he looked down at the rug, its colors faded with time and the edges beginning to unravel. He thought of the history of love that the rug represented. Made by their grandmum, cared for and lovingly preserved by their mum. Five of the Weasley children had played on it. It was a piece of their family history. "No," he finally whispered, looking wistfully at the rug in question. "I think it's wonderful. I wish...." He trailed off, unable to finish his thought, tears suddenly welling in his eyes.   
  
Ginny reached out a small hand, laying it to rest on his arm. "Harry," she said softly. He looked at her hand, so small on his forearm, and then into her soft brown eyes, seeing the understanding and caring in them. He opened his mouth to say something, but a loud explosion near Percy made them jump and the moment was broken. It was just as well, Harry thought, as he laughed half heartedly at Percy who was still smoking, because he wasn't sure what he had been about to say.   
  
  
  
So here he was. It was 1 in the morning, no longer Christmas, and he was sitting alone in the Weasley's living room unable to sleep. It had been his best Christmas. The only Christmas that he had ever been included as part of a family. Christmas morning at the Dursley's had seen him cooking breakfast while Dudley plowed through his numerous gifts, and while the Christmases he had spent at Hogwarts had been fun, celebrating with friends was better than not celebrating at all, this Christmas had been wonderful. He had felt like a part of a family for once.   
  
The family had merrily exchanged gifts, including Harry as one of their own. He had even gotten one from Santa. Though all the Weasley kids had rolled their eyes as they opened theirs, Mrs. Weasley hadn't been upset. A tradition was a tradition, she reminded them with a smile. She'd even knitted him his very own stocking with snitches on it. When he saw it that morning he had to try very hard to keep the tears in his eyes from falling. Luckily, Charlie accidentally nudged one of George and Fred's gifts and it exploded. Harry was able to get control of himself as Charlie threatened the twins and Mr. Weasley picked up the mess. Harry hadn't been surprised to see Ginny watching him from across the room though. He managed a smile and then dug into his stocking with as much enthusiasm as Ron.   
  
It had been the best Christmas of his life, and yet he was suddenly feeling depressed. Why, when he had been so happy all day did he feel so sad now? He stared into the fire, his hands fiddling with the rug absently as he tried to understand his mood. He thought about his stocking, the presents, dinner...the rug...his conversation with Ginny.   
  
As he sat there thinking, he felt the tears come to his eyes again, his throat suddenly tight. He wanted a family. He loved the Weasleys, but he wanted his own family. He didn't have any memories of his parents - not real ones, anyway. There were no ratty rugs that had been made by his grandmother; no heirloom china to be brought out on special occasions; no traditions to enjoy or make fun of. There was nothing. And now that he had experienced a real family Christmas he felt horribly saddened by all that he had missed over the years.   
  
Sighing deeply he turned away from the fire, staring instead out the living room window. From his vantage point on the couch he could see nothing but the inky black sky. One star seemed to be particularly bright, drawing his attention. It pulsed rhythmically, making him feel sleepy. His eyes started to close drowsily as he watched the star. It seemed to be getting brighter and he was reminded of a muggle video Dudley had once gotten for Christmas. He remembered standing in the hallway to watch it so that Dudley wouldn't see him and get him sent to his cupboard. For years, whenever he looked to the night sky he would make a wish, picking the brightest start to pin his hopes to - to be a part of a real family. He stopped wishing well before his tenth birthday, deciding that he was too old for such foolishness. There was no such thing as fairies, and there was definitely no such thing as magic. But now.....   
  
Sleepily he opened his eyes, focusing all his being on that one shining star.   
  
"Star light, star bright,  
  
First star I see tonight.  
  
I wish I may, I wish I might  
  
Have the wish I wish tonight," he whispered.   
  
With a sad smile he drifted off to sleep, the rug still clutched tightly in his hands. 


	2. chapter 2

Chapter 2  
  
Harry didn't know how long he slept, or even if he was still asleep, but suddenly he found himself standing in an unfamiliar living room that was strangely reminiscent of the Dursley's, though this room seemed more artless than planned. It was no where near as cluttered as the Weasley's living room, but it still managed to feel cozy despite the scarcity of furniture.   
  
The couch and matching loveseat were a deep burgundy, throw pillows in black and gold added a nice contrasting touch. A gold throw blanket was thrown haphazardly over the back of an old fashioned rocking chair. From the detailed work of the carving across the back and arms, Harry guessed that it was very old. Bookshelves lined the wall behind the rocker, but these books, unlike the ones at the Dursley's, looked like they had been read - many times. They were stacked and piled haphazardly on the shelves intermixed with other bric-a-brac: a small statue of a dragon, numerous framed photos that looked to be moving, some things he couldn't quite determine in the dim light, and something that looked suspiciously like a crystal ball.   
  
This was definitely a wizarding house, he concluded, but it was nothing like the Weasley's. There was a definite muggle influence, he thought. There were pictures of wild flowers and other nature scenes framed on the walls and several green plants scattered about. He didn't recognize them from herbology, but they didn't seem to have any magical properties such as flowers or thorns. Were they only for decoration like his Aunt Petunia's plastic ones?   
  
A large poster over the oversized fireplace drew Harry's attention. It had a big red bow tied across it, but he could still see that it was a Quidditch poster - from the 1979 World Cup, England vs. Greece. Next to the fireplace, tucked in the corner was a midsize Christmas tree, the presents underneath it almost overwhelming it as they flowed out and partially blocked the archway leading to the kitchen. The tree didn't look anything like Aunt Petunia's with its blown glass and 'collectible' ornaments bought to impress, but it didn't have homemade ornaments like the Weasley's tree, either. As Harry looked at the tree, he noticed that there weren't many ornaments on it at all, though ribbons, bows and flowers had been used lovingly. Harry smiled. It was the most beautiful tree he had ever seen.   
  
Cautiously, so as not to step on any presents, Harry moved towards the beribboned poster to get a better look. Gently he lifted the gift tag and read it. With a gasp he dropped it as if he had been burned, stepping back and looking wildly around the room. "To Daddy, Happy Christmas. Love Harry,' was written in a distinctly feminine hand.   
  
Like a punch to the stomach, Harry realized that he was standing in his parents' home. His home when he was a baby. Stumbling he moved over to the shelves, scanning the framed photos there. He saw his parents' wedding picture; a graduation picture with all the marauders and his mum; his father smiling with Dumbledore; his mother holding him as a newborn; and one of him and his father - he was wearing a miniature set of Gryfinddor Quidditch robes.   
  
Before Harry's stunned mind could take it all in the fire behind him roared to life and a young Sirius Black stepped out of the fireplace, not even noticing the pale figure of Harry across from him.   
  
"Ho, Ho, Ho!" he bellowed loudly, a smile on his face. "Come on Mooney, Prongs! Get up! It's Christmas!"   
  
Harry heard a door creak open upstairs. "Sod off, Black," a surly voice called back. The voice seemed familiar to Harry, but he wasn't sure. Could it have been his father?   
  
Sirius was about to reply when a baby started crying. Harry stood in wonder. Was that him crying? A door opened and this time Harry heard footsteps. "Make yourself useful, Padfoot," another voice called. "Make breakfast. I'll have my eggs scrambled, thanks."   
  
Sirius walked across the room, barely missing Harry who was still too stunned to move. He stopped at the bottom of the staircase in the entry hall. "And just what is Lily doing?" he called up. "What's a wife for if not to cook breakfast?"   
  
The baby's - his - cries became louder as someone went into his room and brought him into the upstairs hallway. From his vantage point Harry could only see the person's slippered feet and the bottom of their plaid pajama pants. It had to be his father, Harry thought. Who else could it be?   
  
"Lily," he heard his father say, and this time he was sure it was his father, though he'd only heard echoes of his voice before, "is going to feed my son - who is a hell of a lot more important than you!"   
  
"Yeah, so bugger off Sirius!" his mother's voice called down jovially. Both men laughed as his father walked back down the hall.   
  
"Come on Remus," Sirius called back up the stairs. "We have breakfast duty!" Turning he headed into the kitchen. Soon the figure of Remus Lupin came down the stairs tying the sash of his robe, yawing widely. He looked so young and..and...happy, Harry realized. There was no sign of the pale, haggard man he would one day become.   
  
Absently Harry listened to the two friends bantering in the kitchen as they ran water and banged the pots and pans in preparation for fixing breakfast, but his attention was focused upstairs. His parents were up there - with him. His family. He wanted desperately to go up there. To see his own room and his parents room. To see his parents - alive - for the first time in his life. But before he could manage to take the first step his father came pelting down the stairs. Harry turned without thought and followed him into the kitchen. This was his father - alive and happy, joking around with his friends on Christmas morning. Harry watched in awe as the three of them managed to make some tea, toast and eggs, laughing and talking the whole time.   
  
"Lily!" Sirius bellowed when the table was set. James cuffed him lightly and Remus simply shook his head as he poured the tea.   
  
"There's no need to shout," Harry's mother said from behind him, making him jump. She walked down the stairs gracefully, carrying young Harry in his arms. She was as beautiful as Harry had always imagined, her eyes twinkling as she reprimanded Sirius. Handing Harry to his father, she sat down at the table and surveyed the meal. "Not bad. I am impressed."   
  
"What took you so long?" Sirius asked as he began to pass around the food.   
  
His mother shrugged, as she buttered her toast, a small smile on her face. "Harry was hungry."   
  
Sirius sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "It's always Harry. Greedy little bugger, isn't he?" Everyone laughed.   
  
His mum looked around. "Aren't we going to wait for Peter?" she asked.   
  
Sirius shook his head. "His mum is sick. He's going to spend the day with her. He said he might stop by later."Just hearing that name made Harry sick to his stomach, but no one seemed to think much of the news and breakfast continued.   
  
Harry stared at his younger self as everyone ate. It was so odd to see himself as a baby. He'd seen pictures of course, but this was just bizarre. He was sitting in his father's lap happily gumming a piece of toast. His mother had dressed him for the holiday in a pair of pajamas with the feet attached that were decorated with red and green reindeers. He looked so content in his father's arms. So happy. Of course he was only five months old, but just to know that at one point in his life he had been happy like this was comforting.   
  
Sirius pushed away from the table, patting his stomach. "So, mum, can we open the presents now?" he asked Harry's mother, his eyes twinkling as he teased her.   
  
His mum smiled as she brushed the crumbs from her hands. "Of course." She stood and reached for Harry, planting a kiss on his black hair, her eyes twinkling mischieviously. "I'll let you do the dishes later." James and Remus laughed as Sirius groaned.   
  
"It's bad enough you made us wait, but now you're going to make me do the dishes too?! Is this Christmas or what?" Sirius demanded.  
  
His mum continued to smile. "When I was growing up we always had breakfast first. The anticipation made opening the presents even more fun. If I had let you, you would have been done by now," she pointed out rationally. "Besides, someone has to do the dishes," she grinned.  
  
His dad stood up and kissed her cheek, winking at his friends. "Whatever makes you happy, Sweetheart. Now let's get to the good stuff!" His mum laughed as his dad walked into the living room rubbing his hands together in mock greed.   
  
"Give this kid a year or two," Sirius said, chucking Harry under the chin and making him laugh, "and you won't be able to hold him back from opening them all."   
  
"Harry will learn," his mum said confidently, following Sirius into the living room. "A tradition is a tradition. Breakfast comes first. Now James - you get to pass out the presents. James?"   
  
Harry looked over at his dad who was stumbling awestruck across the living room towards the fireplace. His mom, Sirius and Remus were smiling broadly as they too watched him.   
  
"Wow," James whispered, reaching a hand out but not quite daring to touch the poster. "Wow. You...you found one! And...oh my...it's even signed." He glanced back at his wife and friends, his eyes sparkling with happiness.   
  
"Happy, Christmas, Dear," Harry's mum said softly.   
  
"Happy Christmas, Prongs."   
  
"Happy Christmas, James."   
  
His dad continued to stare lovingly at his present. "Happy Christmas," he managed to whisper. Reaching out he took the gift card. "To daddy, Happy Christmas," he read, his voice trembling slightly. "Love Harry." In a moment he was back across the room enveloping both his mum and Harry in a hug. "Am I the luckiest git in the world or what, Harry my lad?" he asked, lifting Harry up into the air and making him shriek with laughter. Harry saw his mum wipe away a tear as she watched them, smiling broadly. Harry was surprised to feel tears on his own face. Even Sirius and Remus seemed to be affected by the poignancy of the moment.   
  
"Enough of this sentimentality!" Sirius finally declared, taking young Harry from his father. "You've had your present, Prongs, now we want ours. Lily has declared you Santa, so jump to it!"   
  
With a laugh everyone continued into the living room and found a place to sit. His dad stationed himself near the tree...all the better to pass out the presents and still see his new poster.   
  
The morning past in a blur of laughter and love, as Harry stood and watched them open their presents, joking and teasing each other. Not surprisingly most of the presents were for baby Harry, though he didn't show any real interest in them. He became extremely fascinated by a bow that Sirius had stuck to his forehead at one point, but that was the extent of his interest in Christmas.   
  
His mum had volunteered to open his presents for him, which caused Sirius to tease her mercilessly. Harry, who had never received so many presents before in his life, watched as his mum opened them all. Among the many that he had received were a stuffed snowy owl who looked remarkably like Hedwig, a stuffed dragon, a miniature broom stick, and a muggle like toy that dangled toys above a baby who was laying down - only this toy was obviously enchanted - these toys made noises and changed color as the baby played with them. The biggest gift was a self cleaning high chair from Sirius and Remus.   
  
When everything had been opened, his mum placed Harry on the floor on a baby blanket, his new toy dangling above him, while she began cleaning up all the paper and ribbons. James, Sirius, and Remus cleared a space where they could put together the high chair, arguing good naturedly the whole time.   
  
Harry stood silently in the corner, his body barely marking the passage of time, his heart fit to burst at what he had seen. So this was his first Christmas; so happy and filled with love. His parents - he had known they loved him - but to see their love, for him and for each other, was a most treasured gift. And to see Sirius and Remus young and carefree, without all the burdens the coming years had placed on them was like seeing two totally different people. What if? he wondered. What if Voldemort had been defeated before he was born? What if he had spent his whole life surrounded by these people? What would his life be like now?   
  
His throat tightened. This is what he had always wanted. And while it was comforting to know that he had had it once, if only for a brief time, he felt the bitterness well up in him again as it had at the Weasley's. Why couldn't he have a normal life? Why couldn't he have a family? He'd give anything to have a family like this again. Anything....   
  
Before Harry knew what was happening his parent's living room faded and he found himself standing in a darkened bedroom, two figures snuggled together under a blue and green plaid duvet. 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3  
  
Harry looked around, bewildered. Where was he now? He looked closely at the couple in bed before him. In the dim light, he could just make out one dark head and one lighter colored - red probably - their faces obscured by the bedclothes. Was he in his parents' bedroom now?  
  
Where the living room had been welcoming, but somewhat sparse, their bedroom was much more cosy - and crowded, he observed, offering more of glimpse of the occupants themselves. Aside from the large fourposter bed, there were two matching bedside tables, each overflowing with books, and two dressers. Over in a corner alcove, surrounded by windows, was a large comfortable looking chair and a low bookshelf crammed with even more books.   
  
The room had a definite lived in, homey feel to it. Clothes were piled on what he guessed was his father's dresser, waiting to be put away. A robe was draped across the room's only chair, and several pairs of shoes were peeking out from the foot of the bed. Harry had to hold in a laugh when he noticed the broomstick resting in the corner. Apparently he wasn't the only one who didn't like leaving his broomstick in the cupboard. A pile of clothes near the broomstick looked to be a set of Quidditch robes and pads, much to Harry's surprise. He wasn't aware that his father had played after Hogwarts.  
  
On impulse he decided to investigate his father's bedside table, hoping to learn something more about him. Even though he was fairly certain that they wouldn't be able to see him or hear him, Harry tread as quietly as possible. There were several books on Quidditch, a book on parenting ('A Wizard's Guide to Surviving Magical Offspring', by M. Gooze) an issue of a comic that Harry didn't recognize, and two muggle news magazines. It seemed that he and his father had the same taste in reading material - the parenting book not withstanding.   
  
He was just moving to inspect the items on the dresser when he heard the patter of little feet out in the hall. Glancing towards the open doorway he saw a dark haired child run down the hall and then disappear from sight. From the sound of the soft thumps he guessed that the child was going down a set of stairs.  
  
Was that me? Harry wondered in shock. He hadn't been around children much in his life, but if he had to guess, he'd say that the little boy was a year or two older than the fifteen months he had been when his parents had been killed.   
  
He had seen his past. Was he now seeing what could have been?  
  
Before he could really think of the implications a small voice started crying, "Me too! Me too! Mama!" from a room nearby. His mother shifted on the bed and Harry froze despite the fact that he knew it was all a dream. Old habits died hard, and he had been looking through their stuff; he couldn't help the feeling of guilt that washed hit him.  
  
"Harry," she mumbled, her voice deep with sleep. Harry's heart started beating rapidly. Was she talking to him or did she think the little boy was in the room? "Harry," she repeated a bit louder, causing his father to shift. "Jamie's up and Carolyn's getting upset."  
  
Jamie? Who's Jamie? Harry wondered. He assumed that Carolyn was the little child who was now crying. Did he have a little sister? And had that little boy not been him, but his little brother? Harry didn't know whether he felt happy to know what his life would have been like if his parents hadn't died, or sick. To know what he had missed because of Voldemort.....  
  
"Harry! Wake up!" his mother's voice cut through his revelrey, making him jump. He was confused. Was she talking to him....or, the thought suddenly dawned on him....were they not his parents at all?  
  
"Wha...?" the man he had thought was his father sat up abruptly, causing the woman to chuckle softly.  
  
"Jamie's up. I don't want him getting into the presents," she told him, "and your daughter is upset. Can you take care of them, please?"  
  
"Yeah, sure," the man mumbled, leaning over to embarce his wife. "How are you feeling?" Harry heard the sound of them kissing softly.  
  
"I'm fine," the woman replied. Was it his mother? He was confused now. Her voice didn't sound quite like what he remembered from his earlier dream, but it was still familiar. Harry watched as her hand carressed the man's bare back, eventually coming to rest in his hair. He blushed at the intimacy he was witnessing, watching as they kissed each other good morning.  
  
The crying of young Carolyn became louder and the man sighed, his head dropping to the woman's chest. She laughed. "Duty calls," he said, though he didn't sound too upset. With one last quick kiss the man rolled out of bed and Harry found himself standing face to face with.....himself.   
  
He forgot to breath as he watched his older self shrug into a night shirt and then put on his glasses. Absently the man brushed his hair out of his eyes and Harry saw his...their...the...scar on his forehead. He was maybe 10 years older, but Harry knew that he was staring at himself. His jaw dropped. He wasn't in his parent's room, he was in his own room. And he hadn't been watching his parents kiss...he had been watching himself and his...wife.  
  
"What time is everyone coming?" his older self asked as he dug out his slippers from under the bed.  
  
The woman...his wife...stretched, her face obscurred by her hair. "Mum and dad should be here by eight...the others too, I think," she replied, rolling onto her side, facing away from where Harry stood watching.  
  
The older Harry sat on the bed, stroking his wife's hair, a look of total contentment on his face. "You'll be down soon?"  
  
"Yes," she said with a laugh, pushing him off the bed. "Now go rescue your daughter!"  
  
Soon Harry heard himself talking softly to the little girl, Carolyn. "So Miss Caro, did Jamie leave you behind?" The little girl crowed happily.  
  
"Up! Up! Daddy!" he little voice demanded, no hint of the tears she had been crying just moments before.   
  
His older self laughed. "Come here you little pixie. Happy Christmas, Caro. Now can daddy have a kiss?" Harry heard a loud smacking sound and a small giggle.  
  
Soon the two appeared in the doorway, a dark headed figure in a red bathrobe with a small pink clad little girl in his arms. From the dim light in the hall Harry could only see an abundance of curls, unsure whether the girl was blond, light brown...or perhaps red like her mother.  
  
'I'm a father,' Harry thought in awe. 'Well...I will be. Someday.' The thought made him feel warm inside. He had never thought much about becoming a father. He was only 17 after all, and most of his time was taken up with school and trying to survive. He could barely bring himself to think about what he was going to do once he left Hogwarts this coming summer, let alone contemplate getting married. In the back of his mind he had always thought someday...and now that someday was staring him in the face.   
  
Wasn't it?  
  
It was all so confusing. Was this the future? He had seen his past - his first Christmas. It was what he had wished for in the Weasley's living room. And later he had wished for a family of his own. Since he wouldn't have any more Christmases with his parents, was he now being shown his very own family; wife, children, and apparently, in-laws too?  
  
The squealing of the children interrupted his thoughts, and soon more voices were heard calling out Happy Christmas. Obviously his wife's family was starting to arrive.  
  
His wife.....  
  
He eyes flashed to the woman on the bed, seeing only a curly mop of red hair. He had almost forgotten about her in the shock of seeing himself. There was something very familiar about that particular shade of hair, he realized, his stomach clenching. Did he marry....?  
  
"Hey sleepy head!" his voice called up from downstairs. "Your mum's here."  
  
"Be right down," his wife called back, finally sitting up, her back to Harry. The suspense was killing him. He wanted to see her face, but it didn't really matter, because Harry had recognized the voice. It was a bit huskier than he was used to, but the hair...the voice...it could be no one else. Harry felt his checks flush and his heart speed up.  
  
She stood then and grabbed her robe. Harry braced himself, holding in his breath. When she finally turned to make the bed he let out a shocked gasp. Not only was he married to Ginny, but she was also pregnant. He could see the bulge of her stomach through her untied robe. Harry was surprised by the wave of possessiveness that ran through him at the sight of her.  
  
He was married to Ginny and they had two, almost three children. Wow. His mind just couldn't seem to grasp this fact as he continued to watch Ginny tidy up the room, humming softly to herself. His mind couldn't understand, but his heart didn't seem to be having the same problem. He could feel it pounding loudly in his chest, almost bursting with...what? Love? Pride? Contentment? The feeling was almost primal and possessive when he looked at Ginny's slightly rounded stomach. They had...she was...a part of them both...wow. He shook his head in wonder.  
  
"So my dears," Ginny said softly, rubbing her stomach, a soft smile on her face. "Ready to go give your daddy his Christmas surprise?"  
  
Harry's jaw dropped. 'My dears?' his mind repeated. 'Christmas surprise?' Was she carrying twins? Without thinking Harry moved to follow her down the stairs, never talking his eyes of her slim form. From behind he couldn't even tell that she was pregnant.  
  
Once down the stairs he soon lost Ginny in a sea of redheads. It seemed that the Weasley's had arrived - en masse. Mr. Weasley had lost a bit more hair, but his face was wrinkled with laughter rather than worry. There was a lot of grey hairs intermixed in Mrs. Weasley's red hair, but she looked as happy as he'd ever seen her, holding one of her grandchildren and surrounded by several others. There were atleast a half dozen small children running around. Mostly red heads, but there were a few brown and one black. Harry tried to get a good look at the black haired little boy racing around in his pajamas but he was moving too fast chasing after one of his cousins. Harry couldn't hold back his grin.  
  
He caught sight of Bill and Charlie across the room. Neither had changed much. Bill still had his pony tail and earring, and Charlie was wearing a very nice pair of dragon skin pants. Harry was surprised when a petite blond woman handed a young child, maybe a year old, to Charlie, kissed him and walked through another door leading to what had to be the kitchen. So, Charlie finally found someone to brave the wilds of Romania with, Harry thought with a smile.  
  
His mouth dropped open as another woman he was pretty sure he recognized opened the door to the kitchen and shooed out two identical girls, maybe five years old, familiar mischevious grins on their face. It could be none other than Angelina.  
  
"George!" she called across the room, causing two identical heads to pop up from behind Christmas tree. "Will you keep an eye on these two please? Breakfast is almost ready and I don't need to be tripping over them!"  
  
One of twins smiled. "Yes, dear," he said. Grinning he waved the little girls over. "Maddie, Abby, come and help daddy and Uncle Fred!" So, George and Angelina had gotten married. That must be an interesting story. Last he remembered, Fred was dating Angelina. Harry looked about the room searching for someone who might have married Fred. It just didn't seem right that one twin was married and the other wasn't.  
  
Scanning the room, Percy caught his eye. He looked a lot like his father, Harry was surprised to note. His hair was thinning and there were more lines on his face then he would have expected from someone in their early thirties. Percy always did take his work seriously and maybe it was finally wearing him down a bit. The worry lines disappeared when a pretty woman sat down next to him, holding a small infant. The woman looked familiar, she must have gone to Hogwarts, but Harry could not think of her name.  
  
So, Mr and Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Charlie and his wife, Percy and his wife (what was her name?!), George and Angelina, and Fred had all arrived. And there were more than a half dozen kids running around. It was a good thing the living room was a large one or they never would have all fit. As it was it was noisier than a circus. Harry loved it.  
  
He watched his older self converse quietly with Mr. Weasly, all the while keeping an eye on the two little boys, one was Jamie, who were racing around the room. He looked happy and in his element. He supposed that 4 or 5 years of being surrounded by Weasleys could do that to a person. The only one missing was....  
  
As soon as the thought entered his mind the door bell rang. Fred popped up from behind the tree, a grin on his face. "Ah, the newlyweds have arrived!"  
  
Percy's wife stood up and laughed. "Honestly Fred," she said, moving towards the door and narrowly missing the two boys followed closely by George's twin girls. "They've been married for over a year now. That's hardly newlyweds." She opened the door.  
  
"Ho Ho Ho!" a loud, jolly voice called out. Every single child in the room froze and turned towards the door. The faces fell only slightly when Ron entered the room.  
  
Cries of: "Uncle Ron! Uncle Ron!" echoed through the room as the children ran up to him and attached themselves to his legs. He managed to struggle into the room and a hooded figure followed him in, closing the door firmly behind them.  
  
Ron laughed as he handed his cloak to Percy's wife, and then lifted the two little boys into his arms. "So, have you been a good boy, Jamie?" The black haired boy nodded solemnly. "And what about you, Brendan? Not been terrorizing your father too much?" Brendan began to nod, but couldn't stop the blush from creeping over his face as he looked sheepishly up at his uncle. "What did you do?" Ron asked, unable to hide his amused grin.  
  
Brendan remained silent, grinning hesitantly around the room as all eyes seemed to be on him.  
  
"I'll tell you what he did," Fred chimed in. "He switched my toothpaste with my shaving cream. Turned my broomstick purple, and charmed the cat so that he barks instead of meows. And that was just in the past two days!" The adults in the room burst into laughter at Fred's affronted look that his son would do such things to him.  
  
"What about you two?" Ron asked the twins still attached to his legs, once he'd gotten his laughter under control. "I suppose you have been angels." The two girls nodded silently up at him, beguiling smiles on their cherubic faces.  
  
"Don't believe a word out of their mouths!" George called accross the room, causing everyone to laugh again.  
  
Ginny came out of the kitchen, her arms wide. "Ron, 'Mione! You're just in time. Breakfast is ready." Harry did a double take as he watched Ginny kiss Ron's cheek and then hug Hermione. It wasn't as much as a shock as Harry had expected to see that Ron and Hermione had married finally. What did cause his mouth to drop open was the sight of Hermione's swollen belly. She was just a little bit bigger than Ginny. Ron was going to be a father, Harry smiled. Well, he seemed perfect for the part. All his nieces and nephews seemed to love him.  
  
Harry watched as Ginny and Hermione whispered conspiratorially together, their eyes sometimes sliding over to his older self who was now talking with Percy and Bill, Charlie's little girl in his arms. The girls giggled and smiled; Ginny shaking her head for a moment, and then nodding at what Hermione had to say.  
  
Ginny stepped into the middle of the room. "Okay, breakfast is ready. So everyone to the dining room. The sooner we eat, the sooner you get to open presents," she reminded the kids. Ron grumbled something and Ginny smacked him on the back the head playfully. "When you host Christmas you can do it your way," she told him good naturedly. "Now get in there and be a good example."  
  
Harry smiled. They had breakfast before presents just like his mum had wanted. He had a family and they had traditions, and there was laughter and love. This was what he had always wanted. He moved to follow everyone into the dining room, but from somewhere he heard his name being called. He looked around.  
  
"Harry," the voice called again, as if from a long distance. "Harry, dear."  
  
And just as quickly, the dream faded away, leaving him with nothing but vague images and a feeling of utter contentment  
  
  
  
End? 


	4. Chapter 4

Happy Christmas everyone!  
  
I've had a bit of a writers block lately, and then one night this little chapter came to me and I   
decided to write it down. It's not much, but it gives the story a bit more closure. It hasn't   
been beta'd, but eventually I will bug the Queens and get it posted at gt.net.  
  
Cheers all  
  
RA  
  
Of Wishes and Dreams (epilogue or chapter 4)  
  
****  
  
"Harry," the voice called again, as if from a long distance. "Harry, dear."   
  
And just as quickly, the dream faded away, leaving him with nothing but vague images and a   
feeling of utter contentment   
  
****  
  
  
"Ginny?" he asked sleepily, as he slowly began to waken, his eyes blinking owlishly as they   
adjusted to the darkened room.  
  
"I'm afraid not," a voice chuckled from above him.  
  
Recognizing the voice, Harry sat up abruptly. "Mrs. Weasley!" he squeaked, his face flushing   
hotly. "I was dreaming and I… and Ginny… and, well, I…" inwardly he groaned as he   
floundered for words.  
  
"Not to worry, dear," Mrs. Weasley smiled, patting him on the head. "You don't need to   
explain. I imagine Ginny would be flattered that she was in one of your dreams. Would you   
like some tea?" she asked before he could even think of something to say in response.  
  
"Uh, sure," he finally managed, but she had already gone into the kitchen. Straightening his   
glasses, Harry took a deep breath and followed her, determined to somehow explain that he   
hadn't been dreaming about only Ginny. It was embarrassing for him to think that Ginny's   
mother would think that he'd been having those kind of dreams about Ginny, when he   
hadn't… at least, not this time – the memory of other dreams of that nature causing his blush   
to deepen.  
  
"What are you doing down here so late?" Mrs. Weasley asked as he hesitated in the door way.   
"Too much excitement for you today?" She handed him a mug of hot tea, chamomile by the   
smell of it.  
  
Harry took a careful sip. "I guess," he shrugged. "It was my first real Christmas, and I," he   
paused awkwardly, "I just want to say thanks. It was a lot of fun to be included in your   
holiday."  
  
Mrs. Weasley smiled benevolently at him. "You're welcome, Harry. And you are always   
welcome to spend the holidays with us, I want you to know that. I wish you could have spent   
more of your holidays here, but… Dumbledore had his reasons. Now that you're of age…" she   
smiled at him. "You and Hermione are a part of this family and will always be welcome.   
Please remember that."  
  
A warm feeling flooded through Harry, settling in his chest and seeming to expand until he   
could barely breath. He was wanted. And welcomed. She thought of him as a part of the   
family. "Thanks," he whispered into his tea, unable to look at her for fear of losing what   
control he had over himself. He was too old to cry.  
  
"You're welcome," she told him kindly.   
  
They drank their tea in a comfortable silence, the fact that it was past two in the morning not   
seeming at all odd. Harry enjoyed the companionship. He spent many late nights up by   
himself. His aunt – when she had ever discovered him out of his room - simply scolded him   
and sent him back to bed; Ron, whenever he noticed that Harry was out of bed, would search   
for him and then grumpily drag him back, he was never much of a night person; Hermione   
was more inclined to talk and try to sort out whatever was keeping him awake.   
  
Sitting in companionable silence with Mrs. Weasley reminded him of the few times Ginny had   
found him sitting by the common room fire. She hadn't said a word beyond, 'can I sit here?'   
But her presence had been extremely soothing .  
  
"I wasn't really dreaming about Ginny," Harry blurted out when he was almost done with his   
tea, surprised that his earlier mistake was still bothering him. "I mean, I was… she was in the   
dream, but it wasn't like… well, like that."  
  
"Okay," Mrs. Weasley agreed, pouring them another cup. "Is there another reason you were   
downstairs so late, or was it just the excitement?" she asked after a moment.  
  
Harry shrugged. "I'm not… I don't sleep much and tonight… I couldn't sleep. Ron was snoring   
something horrid," Mrs. Weasley grinned, "and I got to thinking about… about the old play   
rug that Fred and George were teasing you about."  
  
"Really?" Mrs. Weasley asked, raising an eyebrow – a look that reminded him of Ginny.  
  
Harry nodded, looking into his tea again. "Yeah. It made me realize that I don't have any   
traditions, or at least I don't remember them. There's so much that I've missed out on and I   
was… sad."  
  
"Oh, Harry, you'll have your traditions someday," she told him gently, reaching out to pat his   
hand. "You will have your own family and your own traditions. It might not make up for what   
you've lost, but it will fill the gap, and until then, well, you will always be considered an   
honorary Weasley."  
  
"Thanks," Harry said sincerely. "That means a lot to me. And I know that someday…" his   
words faded away as he remembered his dream. "That's what my dream was about," he   
finally told her. "About Christmas traditions. Before I fell asleep I made a wish – I wanted to   
know what Christmas was like with my parents." He heard the sharp intake of Mrs. Weasley's   
breath, but didn't dare to look at her, he couldn't stand to see the pity on her face. Instead he   
gazed out the window, his eyes unseeing.  
  
"It was strange, because one minute I was on your couch and the next I was standing in the   
middle of an unfamiliar living room," he told her, "Only, it wasn't really unfamiliar. And there   
was a tree decorated with ribbons and bows and flowers – the most beautiful tree I've ever   
seen," he said wistfully. "And lots of presents all over. And then, Sirius was there, and   
Professor Lupin and they looked so young and… happy. And my parents and me and…" he   
swallowed with difficulty, his voice hoarse with the suppressed emotions. "And we were   
happy. They were happy. They laughed and teased each other. They fought over who would   
open my gifts. And then I… I got sad again.  
  
"It's not fair," he finally said, wiping away a stray tear that had fallen against his will.  
  
"No, it's not, Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley quietly agreed from across the table.  
  
"The dream changed before I was ready for it," Harry managed to continue after a minute. "I   
was thinking how unfair it was that I didn't get to have a family, and I was thinking that I   
would give anything to have that again and then everything just changed around me and I   
was standing in the middle of a bedroom. I thought it was my parent's room – and I saw a   
little boy go down the hallway, he was probably 3 or 4 years old, and then I heard a little girl   
crying and I thought… I thought my dream was showing me what my life would have been like   
if my parents hadn't died."  
  
"But it wasn't," Mrs. Weasley said softly.   
  
"No it wasn't," Harry agreed, blushing slightly as he looked into his tea. "It was my room.   
And my son. My daughter. It was me in bed with…" he faltered, not sure if he wanted to say   
Ginny's name, "with my wife and she was… pregnant," he blushed profusely, "with twins. She   
was going to surprise me with the news as a Christmas gift, but I was standing there in the   
room… watching her, while the other me, the older me, was downstairs with the Jamie and   
Carolyn."  
  
"Jamie and Carolyn?" Mrs. Weasley asked curiously.   
  
"That was their names, the little boy and girl; Jamie and Carolyn." He paused for a moment.   
"I've never really thought about what names I'd like to name my kids," he said thoughtfully.   
"I've never really thought about having kids," he admitted. "But they're nice names and they,   
they…fit somehow."  
  
Mrs. Weasley smiled. "Most boys don't think of such things."  
  
"I guess. It's just that, until this dream, I've never even really thought about getting married   
and having a family. I mean, I have, to the point where I think 'someday, when Voldemort is   
gone,' because that's what you are supposed to do when you grow up – get married and have   
a family, but, that's it, I didn't think it would really happen. But this dream was so real and   
detailed. I can still tell you what everyone was wearing…" his eyes went unfocused again as   
he thought back on the dream.   
  
"Mr. Weasley had even less hair, but he didn't look as worn out as he does now – he looked   
happy. And you, you were holding a baby and smiling, your hair with just a touch of gray.   
Bill looked the same, and Charlie was married to a small blonde woman and they had a little   
girl that looked just like her, a baby, not more than a year old. Charlie was wearing green   
dragon hide pants. Fred and George were doing something to the Christmas tree and George   
was married to Angelina – they had twin girls, Abby and Maddie, maybe five years old with red   
hair. They seemed to be as mischievous as Fred and George. Fred had a little boy, Brendan,   
about Jamie's age, who was a terror. He switched Fred's shaving cream and toothpaste,   
charmed his broomstick purple and made the cat bark."  
  
Mrs. Weasley let out a snort of laughter. "It's good to see them getting a bit of their own   
back."  
  
Harry grinned. "Percy was there too, with a little baby. I recognized his wife… she must have   
gone to Hogwarts, but I can't remember her name. He looked a lot like Mr. Weasley, actually,   
but very tired." He paused and smiled. "Ron showed up next and all the kids piled up on him,   
and Hermione was with him. Fred called them the newlyweds – and Hermione was pregnant   
too. She was whispering with… my wife about something, and then we all went into the   
kitchen for breakfast before opening presents, just like my mum had wanted in my other   
dream. And then it ended," he trailed off, blushing. He had never spoken to anyone so much   
about something that was so personal.  
  
Standing up, Mrs. Weasley took his mug to the sink and rinsed it out. "It sounds like a very   
nice dream, Harry," she told him. "It's good to know that my boys finally manage to grow up   
and become respectable," she winked at him and Harry grinned. "Now, why don't we go back   
upstairs? I'm feeling a bit tired now, and I'm sure you'd like to see if you can catch up with   
your dream again."  
  
Harry blushed and stood up. "Yeah, that would be nice."  
  
Silently they walked up the stairs, but one question was gnawing at Harry's mind. On the   
second floor landing they paused, Mrs. Weasley turning to go to her room.  
  
"Good night, Harry, dear, sleep well."  
  
"Good night," Harry responded, and then, "Mrs. Weasley?"  
  
"Yes, Harry?" She turned back to him.  
  
"I didn't… how come…" he floundered momentarily. "Aren't you curious to know how Ginny   
was?"  
  
Mrs. Weasley smiled a knowing smile. "I think I already know, dear," she told him.  
  
"You do?"  
  
"Yes, she was very, very happy. But I imagine her feet were a bit swollen – mine always were   
when I was pregnant." And with that, she closed the door, leaving Harry to make his way up   
to Ron's room, his thoughts spinning and images of Ginny now, and in his dream, floating   
across his mind's eye.  
  
Maybe the future wasn't so bad, after all. Maybe one day he would get his traditions.  
  
The thought made him smile as he passed Ginny's room on his way upstairs. Gently he   
touched her door as he walked by.  
  
Someday.  
  
End – I think. Unless I skip back to the future again. ;) 


End file.
